Gold on Black
by bananajelly
Summary: Flynn Rider will stop at nothing to get his hands on gold, and he can't believe his luck when he stumbles upon a girl with priceless hair. AU in which the thief of Corona sneaks into a certain lost princess' tower, but she doesn't have her frying pan to help her out. A different, darker path than the events of Tangled.
1. Chapter 1

There's a man in Rapunzel's tower.

There is a _man _in Rapunzel's _tower._

And his eyes are on her.

For one surreal moment, the two stare at each other, frozen, and she takes in brown hair and amber eyes and an angular face. She feels as if she's been dunked in ice water. The moment breaks when he rushes forward and she turns on her heel to run, but before she can take two steps, he grabs her from behind, one arm wrapping around her stomach and the other clamping down on her mouth. "_Shh_," he whispers into her right ear, and it sends a tremor down her spine. She tries to scream, but it's noiseless against his palm.

Her heart feels like a hummingbird trying to fly out of her chest, sending a wave of undiluted panic through her veins. Mother's warnings are ringing in her head. She channels all her strength into twisting out of his arms, and she's stunned at how useless it is against his iron grip, how he doesn't even budge from the spot he's rooted them in. She tries to say _let me go_, but it comes out muffled and unintelligible.

Rapunzel's terror gives way to the slightest bit of indignation when she realized the man isn't even paying attention to her. Instead he's looking out the window, eyes fixed on the land seventy feet below.

A full minute inches by before he seems to decide that whatever danger outside has passed, and he finally loosens his grip. "Thank god," he breathes, and she's still pressed close enough against his body that she can feel the shudder of relief that passes through him. At last, he turns his focus to Rapunzel. "I'll let you go if you promise not to run or scream," he says. "I won't hurt you." His voice is low and heady and _so _different from Mother's, or her own.

Even through the fog of her terror and confusion, Rapunzel finds that she believes him. Before she can come to her senses, she nods, and he releases her, lifting his hand from her mouth. Rapunzel gasps for air and spins around to face him. Every instinct tells her to run, but she is helpless in the face of her overwhelming curiosity. She wants—no, she _needs—_to see this man who's broken into her tower. This person from the outside world.

It's her first close look at him, and she expects the worst, but this man is evidently _not _very monster-like. In fact, his face is … rather nice. Warm, deep eyes. Strong cheekbones, a sharp jawline and a straight, prominent nose, and a dozen other things that shouldn't look good but somehow _do. _Mother's idea of beauty is feminine, delicate, and porcelain. This man's appearance is anything but, and yet she cannot deny his appeal. She stares openly.

The man seems to have noticed her hair for the first time, and she can tell he's trying to hide a flicker of surprise. That's… strange. He's here for her hair, isn't he? Then why does he look confused to see it? A surge of self-consciousness hits Rapunzel and she quickly gathers the blonde locks into her hands, protective. Then, like waking up from a trance, she squeaks and steps backwards. What is she _doing? _Gazing into the eyes of this—this _intruder_?

No, she has to be calm. She can't show fear. This is her chance. She asks, "Who _are _you, and how did you find me?"

"I'm…" He hesitates. "No need for introductions, Blondie. I'm the guy who's going to be out of your life very soon. Right about now, actually." He makes for the window again, but not before he reaches down for the leather satchel at his hip. The man tries to be casual about it, but she can see him feeling through the cover, making sure _something's _still in place. Rapunzel files this information away for later use.

"Wait," she yelps, reaching out to grab his arm. He turns around with an annoyed look.

"Look, sorry if I scared you back there, but I've got to get to a move on. You'll get over it. Breaking and entering… kind of comes with the job."

"You're really going to leave? You don't want my hair?"

The man raises one dark eyebrow and her stomach flips. "Seems like you've got more than enough to go around, but no thanks."

She's still trying to reconcile this information when a singsong voice rings out from below, and her blood runs cold.

"_Rapunzel, let down your haaaaaaair!_"

The man whips around. "Who's that?"

Rapunzel doesn't reply. Mother's coming, and she'll see him, this man, and it won't matter that he doesn't want her hair, she'll get rid of him. She'll get rid of him and Rapunzel will be right back where she started, with no connection to anything outside this stone tower. She makes up her mind right then: she doesn't care if he's an intruder, she doesn't even care if he has jagged teeth. There are bigger things to worry about.

"Get in the closet," she hisses, surprised at how commanding her own voice sounds, "over there." She points to the blue armoire at the back of the room.

"What? No."

"_Please_. I'll explain everything later, but she _cannot _see you or she'll catch you. You can come out when she's gone."

Maybe it's the word "catch", or simply the sheer urgency in her voice, but he obliges. "Fine," he says, and disappears into the closet in the blink of an eye.

Rapunzel exhales in relief. "Coming, Mother!" She hurries over to the window and swings her hair over the wooden support, letting it tumble down to where the dark-haired woman is waiting. Rapunzel pulls Gothel up slower than usual so she has time to let her breathing return to normal and her fingers cease their shaking.

Gothel steps into the tower with a flourish, undoing her cloak and handing it to Rapunzel. Instantly, the room feels smaller. Gothel's presence seems to reach far beyond her physical stature, turning into a dark, weighty thing that swells to fill even the largest of spaces. "Oh, I've missed you, my flower," she purrs, her voice operatic and lush. "But I haven't missed those clumsy hands of yours! I swear, you get slower with every passing day."

Rapunzel swallows. This is it. This is her moment to be an honest, obedient daughter. _Tell the truth, and everything can go back to the way it was this morning…_

Too bad that's the last thing she wants.

"Um, I'm sorry about that, Mother." Even as she wonders what Flynn is thinking, Rapunzel forces herself not to look at the armoire. "Why don't you go get some rest instead of cooking dinner? I can—"

"What a wonderful idea! Come now, sing for me." Gothel strides over to her favorite chair. Eager to distract Gothel from her surroundings, Rapunzel brings her the brush and piles her hair onto her mother's lap. She opens her mouth to sing the oh-so-familiar incantation.

_Flower gleam and glow…_

The sunlight spilling into the tower pales in comparison to the incandescent gold that begins at her roots and races down the waterfall of hair. Gothel holds the precious silk in her hands and sighs, relishing in the prickling warmth that spreads through her blood as the magic reaches her skin. The gray of her hair deepens to an inky black. Her lined face softens and grows plumper, smoother. Her back straightens and the smattering of age spots on her chest fade to an unblemished white.

At the other side of the room, a thief watches from the crack between the heavy wooden doors of the armoire, visions of gold dancing before his eyes.

* * *

**author's note: **well, i'm roughly 9 years late to the party, but i've always dearly loved this movie and rewatched it this week, and it seems to be just the right thing to break my writer's block. this will be an AU retelling of tangled with a darker and more realistic tone, and as such flynn's character will be more callous and self-interested. reviews are love 3


	2. Chapter 2

Flynn Rider can't believe what he's seeing.

It's the answer to everything.

Flynn's never been much of a believer in magic. Eugene was, maybe, but Eugene wasn't cut out for this world. Flynn knows better. Flynn knows that there's no magic except for the kind that comes in pretty little circles of silver and gold.

And right before him is a river of gold, glowing and sparking and turning a woman young.

His jaw hangs open. He knows he should be more cautious, but he's far too awestruck to close the gap between the doors and sever his only window to the scene playing out less than fifteen feet away. The woman has to be Blondie's mother, even though the two really look nothing alike. He'd guessed that she was around fifty—now going on forty, now thirty-five. With every stroke of the brush through the girl's hair, the circles under her eyes lighten, and her wrinkles become less prominent. The girl's soft, lilting song comes to an end, and the fire in her hair fades back to blonde.

The woman (he decides to call her _Red, _on account of the clingy red velvet she wears) pats Blondie on the head and hands her back the brush. It's hard to discern her age, now. Red's skin is satin-smooth, her curls thick and black. She's attractive in a cold, severe way, with high cheekbones and a thin-lipped smile.

"Oh, I feel so refreshed, my dear. What would I do without you?" she says, bringing her hands to her face and feeling along her jawline, her cheeks.

Blondie smiles nervously. He can see her shoot a glance at the armoire, and he instinctively steps back to press himself flush against the wood. He needs to think logically about this, even if there's nothing logical about what goes on in this tower.

How much would someone pay for a bona-fide, honest-to-goodness fountain of youth? Flynn's heart pounds faster at the prospect. Enough for him to travel to a faraway land and live a life of unspeakable luxury.

Red rises out of the chair and saunters to another compartment of the tower, out of sight. He releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. Something tells him that Red is more dangerous than she looks; at any rate, he can't imagine she'll take kindly to someone stealing away her little secret. Red's kept it hidden well. Through all his years of thievery, he'd never heard of a girl with magic hair.

He'll make sure Red never sees head nor tail of him. The hair happens to be attached to a girl, but that's no problem. A quick slash of his knife through those shiny locks, a climb out the window, and he's set. _No, you're being hasty_, Flynn chastises himself. He knows nothing about the properties of the hair. Could a single strand suffice? How much does he need? Is the length important for its healing powers? He needs to stick around, to learn. And the only way to do _that _is through Blondie.

As if on cue, the girl hurries over to the armoire, her eyes darting rapidly from side to side to ensure they're (relatively) alone. She eases the gap open another inch and rises up on her tip-toes to whisper to him. Her looks don't go unnoticed by Flynn—the girl's certainly pretty, with full lips, thick lashes, and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her ski-slope nose. _Not the time or place, Rider._

"The sun's setting soon. You need to leave. I can distract her, make sure she doesn't see you while you go," she whispers conspiratorially. "But… only if you agree to come back tomorrow afternoon. My mother won't be home then."

Flynn is shocked by his luck. It's like a treasure chest offering itself up for the taking. Part of him is full of questions—why is this girl so trusting of him? What does _she _want from him? Whatever the reason, his curiosity can wait. "You have my word," he says in his most trustworthy tone, steeling his expression into a mask of sincerity.

"That's not enough." She shakes her head. "Give… give me your satchel." His eyes must narrow in the dark, because the girl looks victorious. "I know it's important to you. I'll keep it safe here, and this way I can be sure that you won't just run off."

He has to make a split-second decision. The girl is an odd mix of naïve and clever, one that he's not used to at all. The crown of Corona's lost princess, or hair that grants eternal youth?

Flynn hands her the satchel. She sweeps it into her arms and smiles to herself, and it's surprisingly disarming. For a brief, flitting second, the thief almost feels bad for what he's going to do.

She meets his eyes again, looking more confident than before. "You haven't told me your name yet."

He crosses his arms. "Moving fast, eh, Blondie?"

"It's _Ra— _no, wait. You go first."

There's no point hiding it, he supposes. "Flynn Rider."

She looks supremely pleased with herself for wheedling a name out of him. "Rapunzel."

Flynn decides he likes _Blondie _better.

She walks over to an empty vase and slips the satchel inside. It's an embarrassingly weak hiding spot, but Flynn supposes it will do for one night. Then she gives him a clumsy wink, and scampers off somewhere to his left, calling out: "Mother! I finished my new painting today, won't you come and see?"

He waits until the two are embroiled in a conversation before pushing the doors open. It's a relief to breathe in fresh air after so long in the dusty space. He slinks across the room and onto the windowsill, careful not to trample on the bunches of flowers planted along it. Outside, the sky is just beginning to darken, the blue giving way to pinks and purples. He reaches into his satchel for the two arrows he used on his climb. With the lightness of a cat, Flynn slips off the windowsill and begins his descent down the column of stone.


	3. Chapter 3

Mother will be upset if she finds out Rapunzel's up so late. If she doesn't get enough sleep, she'll be sluggish doing her chores tomorrow, and the tower won't be as tidy as Mother likes it, and _then _she'll have to brace herself against the full force of Mother's frown. Rapunzel hates that look. It's a look that screams _why did I expect any better from you, _and Rapunzel ranks it among her least favorite things, right up there with crooked paintbrushes and cold, foggy days.

Still, she can't bring herself to sleep. Long after the sky has turned dark and peppered with stars (_actual _stars—_not _the lights that'll appear in a few days' time from now, no matter what Mother says!), Rapunzel lies wide awake on her bed, her blanket pulled up to her stomach as she watches the ceiling. Pascal is perched on the pillow next to her.

"You think Flynn's going to show up tomorrow, Pascal?"

No response.

"I mean—he gave me his satchel. That's kind of like a promise, right? No, not a promise… a deal. We made a deal. I've never made a deal with anyone before, Pascal! Well, excluding you, of course. Mother never takes my deals." She knows she's rambling, and she knows that Pascal is probably asleep, but she needs to vent her thoughts or she'll burst.

She caresses a lock of hair between her hands. "I know I'm keeping a secret from her, but it's for her own good." Rapunzel winces, remembering how Mother had yelled at her when she'd asked to go see the lights. "You know what? I'll tell her someday, after I prove that I can handle myself out there. Just… not now. I'm not hurting anybody."

And with that comforting thought, the girl drifts into a shallow, excitable slumber, gathered up in the same spot she's slept in for the past seventeen-almost-eighteen years.

* * *

Rapunzel cooks up a breakfast of pancakes and douses them in syrup. There are still a few blueberries left over from Mother's trip last week, and she rinses them off and arranges them artfully on the pancakes. She even plucks a flower from the windowsill and puts it on the plate—a garnish, just the way her cookbook instructs. The added effort is certainly _not _because she feels guilty for deceiving Mother. It's just… a little gesture of gratitude. Yeah. That's it.

Mother only finishes half the plate before proclaiming that she's too full for another bite. "You have the rest, and make sure to wash up when you're done," she says.

Rapunzel nods with just a bit too much gusto. "Everything will be _spotless _when you're back!"

"Mhm. Mother's got to get going, now. Oh, my dear, you really have no idea the _toll _it takes, forcing myself out there each and every day! And I do—"

"Do it all for me," Rapunzel finishes. "I know. I love you, Mother."

Mother pecks the top of her head. "I'll be back for dinner."

It's only after she's let Gothel down on the rope of her hair that Rapunzel unleashes all the built-up tension inside her, springing up on the balls of her feet. She cradles the chameleon in her hands and brings him to eye level. "It's just you and me now, Pascal," she half-sings, "until Flynn shows up. This is so exciting!" Flynn. Hmm. There's a certain thrill to saying someone else's name out loud.

Rapunzel deflates slightly when she realizes that it's still only morning, and she's got hours to kill. Noon's never come slower in her life. After doing the dishes, she tries to read her botany book, but she can't focus on the tiny stationary words. She wants movement, wants life. Her fingers itch to paint a picture of Flynn from memory. Maybe just a small one, in a corner where Mother won't see it…

Instead, she opts to wear herself out by running circles around the tower, jumping and twirling until she's out of breath and collapses into a blonde heap on the ground, Pascal resting on her shoulder. And of course _that's _when she hears Flynn's distinctive voice call out: "Blondie! Is the coast clear?"

"You came!" she blurts, before bringing her hands to her mouth. "You came back." She watches as he heaves himself into the room with a _thud _and leans down to dust off his pants. Her stomach flips. This is stupid, and risky, and she has half a mind to run and hide, but she firmly tells herself that she'll never get anywhere that way.

"I said I would, didn't I?" Flynn says to her with a smile. He looks the same as yesterday, but now she has time to take in the whole picture. She sizes up his easy gait, his broad shoulders, his height—he's taller than Mother, and much more solidly built, yet she doesn't feel threatened this time. He's nothing like the mental image she had of intruders and criminals who would try to break into her tower.

"I _knew _you would," she says in her best authoritative tone, but it comes out sounding childish. Rapunzel clears her throat. "I've hidden your satchel. You won't find it without my help."

He looks unimpressed. "Is that so?" There's a distance of about five strides between them and she hesitates to close it.

"Yes. And you won't get it back until you get me what _I _want."

"And what would that be?"

"You, _Flynn Rider_, are from the outside world, no?"

He cocks his head. "Sure am."

Rapunzel doesn't like how careful he's being with his words, saying only the bare minimum. He won't turn this around on her—_she _has the satchel, so she has the upper hand.

"The lights," she says, walking over to her painterly impression of them. "You will take me to see the floating lights."

Flynn eyes the painting, and recognition dawns on his face. "You mean the lanterns."

"_Lanterns_," she repeats, enjoying the feel of the word on her tongue. "Yes. The lanterns. I _have _to see them in person. You'll be my guide, take me to see them, and then return me to my tower before my mother ever realizes I'm gone."

"Hate to disappoint, Blondie, but those are for the lost princess. Not too much of a story there."

_The lost princess…? _She'll have to ask more about that later, but that can't be right. "You're wrong. They're meant for me. I know they are. I can _feel_ it."

For a second, Flynn looks skeptical, like he wants to say something more, but then he gives her a shrug. "Well, you're in charge. I can't very well say no, can I?"

Well. That was easier than she expected. Rapunzel places her hands on her hips and grins at him. "Nope."

Flynn paces along the perimeter of the circular room, looking up at the painted walls. He keeps his voice even when he speaks. "Well, there's one little problem, Goldie. It sounds like you're trying to keep a low profile out there, not get caught by mom?" He turns around and steps toward the coil of hair that winds around the floor. "You're not exactly inconspicuous."

Flynn kneels down to take the coil into his hands. Rapunzel narrows her eyes as he runs a hand over the strands, and Pascal gives a warning chirp. "Hey, put that down."

He puts on his most placating tone. "Easy, now. I'm just saying: you stand out in a crowd. Any chance you could go for a trim?"

"Oh, not a _chance!_" Rapunzel yanks her hair away from him and piles it into her own arms. Flynn blinks in surprise. She sighs and tries to compose herself—he doesn't know what a trim will do to her. She reminds herself that he's oblivious to her powers. The night before, she'd shut herself in the armoire just to be sure, and to her relief, she couldn't see anything through the thick, solid doors.

"You can't cut it," he echoes. "Okay. Point taken. But you're gonna catch a lot of eyes this way. Might get some unwanted attention. Now, I don't mean to get ahead of myself here, Blondie, but… what's up with your hair anyway?"

Rapunzel smooths down the front of her dress. Her mouth suddenly feels very dry. She can't risk telling him the truth, can she? "You don't get to ask the questions," she says. "_Especially _when it comes to my hair."

It's only there for an instant, but she doesn't miss the shadow that flits across his face. "Fair enough."

"Now, my mother will be back tonight, but she's leaving on a longer trip tomorrow. That's when we'll go."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Suddenly, Flynn is right in front of her. She's impressed by how he manages to move so quickly and silently at the same time. "How much experience do you have outside of this tower?"

"Um…" a blush spreads across her cheeks. "Zero?"

If Flynn's surprised, he does well to hide it. "So you've really lived here your whole life." She nods, but it almost seems like he's talking to himself, confirming something that he already suspected.

"I won't lie to you, Blondie, it's scary out there. Danger around every corner. You might be overwhelmed. The only way this is going to work"— he leans in even closer, and she's staring up into his eyes, and wow, they're dark and full of promise and her stomach tightens in an odd way— "is if you trust me."

He curls his fingers around her wrist, his touch light as a feather.

"Do you trust me, Rapunzel?"

She does.


End file.
